An Artistic Love
by Aitherrs
Summary: Rosie's new neighbor is actor Tom Hiddleston. She has no idea how famous he is or who he is. She can't help but fall in love with him in the most romantic city in the world - Paris.
1. The Meeting

"Bonjour!" A statuesque man with an ashy green back pack thrown over one shoulder and a small local shopping bag clutched tightly within one hand stood awkwardly in the door way blocking the sun from the kitchen. "Je... Je suis le nouveau locataire ici. Je m'appelle Tom." His smiled beamed brightly through the kitchen of dull and hushed aged men. I sat upon one of the kitchen units, my legs dangling tirelessly over the side. I hid a smile but the corners of my mouth hitched up towards my cheeks – his French was basic and his accent – appalling. His shirt was buttoned loosely and clung to his body as the sweat dripped down over him, black shorts at his hips and dirty trainers scuffing our new floor nervously.

"D'ou venez vous?" I cocked my head slightly to the side as I questioned him. A vague sense of familiarity washed over me with each longing gaze I spared for him. I hate that feeling of knowing but still not putting all of the pieces together. A nagging feeling pulled at the back of my brain. The other men in the room stared back and forth from each of us like they were watching a gruelling Wimbledon tennis final. A cool breeze glistened over my neck and swept through the room. He noticed my accidental disparaging smile and looked away quickly, a twinge of guilt buried itself deep in my stomach. Why do I feel guilty? I don't even know him.

"L'Angleterre" He smiled shyly at me, the lack of confidence in his French was obvious but his attempt was humble and brave, the others in the room stood and made their excuses before heading out of the door leaving two complete strangers in complete solitude.

"I thought so." I slipped slightly towards him before quickly turning to hide a shy smile. "I'm Rosie. Tom, isn't it?" The look of careful consternation attacked his boyish charm. His eyes widened in response. He placed his shopping onto the floor carefully to shake my hand.

"Um, yes – forgive me, but are you not French?"

"No. No, I'm not." I informed him knowing that the fact that I wasn't had become increasingly obvious – I ignored the begging urge within me to mock and belittle, it wouldn't be fair.

"But I heard your French, it's perfect... I just assumed..." I laughed softly at his awkwardness. He picked up his shopping and rubbed his neck with his freed hand.

"Your room?" I smiled slyly before turning and heading up through the smooth marbled hallway – my bare feet pattering against the cool floor. He followed me up the metal stairway, his hand trailed up the blackened metal flower. "So, why are you in France? If you don't mind me asking, of course." We followed the single corridor down to a looming wooden doorway. He didn't answer until we entered the apartment.

The apartment was slightly larger on my own, the balcony doors had been left flung open and the white cloth curtains blustered carelessly in the wind. The furnishings were similar to my own – a red sofa and a small television, a basic kitchen with a small cooking area, enough room to walk but not enough room to dance, a large bed but a small wooden antique wardrobe hidden blissfully in the corner of the bedroom and a pointless unused broken chair on the balcony.

"Oh, just for work." He smiled half- heartedly as his eyes glazed and absorbed his surroundings, his hands trailing over sofas and artwork and tables – his idyllic smile never faded. "This apartment is perfect – I love it." I smiled at his eagerness and optimism; the apartment wasn't that great.

"Yeah, well, I'm in apartment 22, just pop in if you have any problems or you need to talk or whatever." I shrugged before heading towards the door, my hand graced over to the handle before he spoke to me once more.

"Rosie?" He called smoothly. I popped my head back around the door and into his sight with a heart warming smile. He had placed his heavy back pack onto the sofa and freed his hand of the shopping. "Thanks, for being so helpful." I felt my blood gather at my cheeks and my heart jumped around my chest quickly when he smiled sweetly at me. Quickly with a nod, I left his room with the door shut – the cold marble cooled my feet as I slipped down the hall to my own place.

For that afternoon, little but my new charming neighbour crossed my mind.

* * *

I lay half concentrating on an early episode of House which had been poorly translated into French, but my brain is still thinking about Tom. _What sort of work does he do? Is he really that nice? Why am I wasting my time even thinking about him? _

An impetuous knock on my door – people never knock in France. There is no privacy. I slipped my large blue shirt over my shoulders and concealed my bikini as I slipped towards my door.

An apologetic smile greeted me, his eyes glistened at the sight of me and his hair had become dishevelled and unruly – it was good look. The loosely buttoned shirt was now completely unbuttoned and his shoes had been discarded. I shuffled my feet nervously. "I'm sorry but I have nothing to do and I got bored so I thought I'd pop over and say hi. Uh, hello!"

"Um, hi?" I quirked an eyebrow and grinned sheepishly at the floor – he'd thought about seeing me. I gazed up at him through my brow as I began to feel more and more exposed as his eyes explored my body. He smirked. "Do you want to come in?" I pushed the door away from my body inviting him into my apartment. I stepped back and slowly headed towards the couch – he quickly followed. His thigh gracefully touching mine. I coughed as I attempted to collect a fractious set of papers from my coffee table. My books and artworks were scattered around the table – projects I'd been given and ideas that came to mind; nothing I wanted Tom to see. I could feel his smirk as he settled himself onto my sofa. "Do you want a drink or something?"

"Sure." He smiled sweetly, I carried myself off to the kitchen, making sweet tangy lemonade in a cooled glass with ice – it's these little touches that matter. "So, what do you do Rosie?" He called out after me whilst I prepared the drinks.

"I'm a photographer. I own an art gallery a few streets away from here." I sauntered back over to the couch and slumped down next to him. He looked even more beautiful from the side – his jaw line was acute and well lined, his cheeks were prominent and his skin was flawless. He accepted his drink, taking a short sip before placing it on my coffee table.

"Oh, sounds incredible."

"I suppose, it's not just my work, my friends pay me to sell their art work. It's a good easy way to make a living." I couldn't hide the smile as I remembered all of the things I had done and seen in that art gallery.

"Where are you from then, if not Paris?" He gazed at me through his brow briefly, before looking down at my legs, his eyes trailed over my smooth skin. He couldn't keep his crystal eyes on my face, he bit his lip instinctively as he stared at different parts of me.

"Stratford Upon Avon. But after I finished school, I moved onto Cambridge to study Classics. Then I ended up here." I sipped carefully at my lemonade – enjoying the cooling feeling of the liquid slipping down my throat. He squirmed and edged around on my sofa, rubbing his back against the fabric.

"Sorry but how old are you?"

"27." I giggled girlishly, he glared at me curiously until I stopped. "I'm sorry, I'm just nervous – I feel like I'm under interrogation with all these questions." He laughed, the tip of his tongue slipped between his teeth and the laugh was short and unusual.

"Sorry about that." He shook his head, before resting back onto his arm. "I'm just curious. You fascinate me Rosie." His eyes finally glazed back up at me with a small sardonic smile. "You're so young but yet you live for yourself and speak French and own a gallery and seem happy. For someone so young, and beautiful, you seem way to settled and perfect happy."

"My life is far from settled. I'm just good at making people believe it is." _Why does he seem so fixated on me? He hardly knows me. _I smirked –never loosing content.

The grating ring came from his pocket.

"Hello?" He gave me a quick apologetic smile before standing up and moving away from sight. I always wondered why people did that; walked out of the room to have a conversation – it's always like they have something to hide. "Something has come up. I have to go. I'm sorry." He lips brushed against my cheek as his rough skinned hand brushed soothingly against my arm.

Then he was gone.

* * *

Art is a form of communication – it's a way for a person to communicate their deepest emotions and desires without the trouble of people judging. Its freedom of speech and it's a way ofsharing passion.

"Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know." I looked up from my cuttings and artistic state of mind to see my colleague, leaning girlishly on her elbows. I had known Annabelle since my first term at Cambridge, she was artistic and incredibly intelligent; she was also the most beautiful person I know.

"Care to share the reason for the Ernest Hemmingway quote?" I gazed up at her quizzically, a look of mystification glazed into my eyes. Her radiating hair was pinned behind her, a blue top clung tightly to her toned body and skinny jeans hung from her hips.

"You are the most intelligent person I know but you rarely smile and yet today, you won't stop." She smirked as she placed her head down onto my work table. I pushed my glasses back up to the tip of my nose – I hadn't noticed I'd been smiling today.

"So what? I had a good night's sleep!" I defended effortlessly.

"Oh and there is a gorgeous man asking for you at the door but he doesn't know your nickname." She turned away and headed back to her own work station. "Interesting." I bounced out through to the art gallery.

There he stood – Tom; in all his glory. His hair more ruffled and windswept than usual and his eyes lit when he saw me smile at him.

"Tom, hey!" I gave him a soft hug before leaning away smiling. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see how good a photographer you were, and judging by those canvases you're incredible. Wow." He walked directly passed me wide eyed, bounding down the steps towards a couple of black and white canvases hanging on a white wall. "Did you do these?" He turned back to face me – still wide eyed – I nodded repeatedly, amused by his child like behaviour towards them. "Incredible. You're very talented." He stared at a portrait of me that had been taken from a friend a while back – he smiled before looking back to me.

"Thanks." I smiled politely but emotionlessly.

"I did have an ulterior motive for coming here today," He began, pausing to take in a long deep breath. "I wanted to know if you wanted to have dinner, with me, tomorrow evening, I know this great little –"

"We can't Tom; at least not tomorrow." His face dropped as the words slipped from my mouth. "No, not because I don't want to – I want to, but we have a building dinner thing, to welcome you. Didn't you get the letter?"

"I haven't been back to the apartment yet. I've been busy."

"It's sort of a moveable feast. Each floor does a meal. We're at the top so we have to do desert. So yes I'll go to dinner with you but not tomorrow."

"A moveable feast? People actually do that?" His laugh was incredibly infectious – he seems so optimistic and happy, it makes me happy just to see him, and I've only just met him!

"Yes, I know it's weird but it's actually really fun." I shook my head and stared to the ground. "Anyway, I have to go back to work. I'll see you tomorrow or tonight or whenever." He walked over to me, his grin became sinister and dominant – he kissed me on the cheek before walking out without saying a word.

"Tomorrow or tonight or whenever." Anna came over to me laughing softly at my stupidity. I gave her a menacing grin.


	2. Sleeping Beauty

**Thanks for the support with the story so far! Especially plume-noire6 who sweetly corrected my terrible french! Hope you like this chapter! Don't forget to review and follow and favourite! A x**

* * *

"Come on!" Anna held out her hand to me as she stood in the brightly lit cobble stone street – the streets were emptied of tourists and filled with the ignorant grunts of local gentlemen sipping a hot coffee in the numerous small cafes and the slight giggles of the teenage girls returning from a frenzied and successful day of shopping – I flung my bag over my shoulder and scurried out of the door. Locking up took a few seconds and we headed on our way down the Victorian steps and out of Montmatre. "So, are you going to tell me the gorgeous boys name is or shall I give him one?" I said nothing; she had linked her arm through mine as I fastened up the buttons of my leather jacket and settling my hands deep into the safety of my pockets. The winter chill was finally kicking in and the air had become polluted with a sense of duty and righteousness towards the season. "I'm going to call him Chandler." She shrugged softly with her lips concealing a smirk within a hard thin line.

"Chandler?" I scoffed expeditiously before sending my gaze willingly towards the view of Paris. "His name is Tom. He's my new neighbour – it's nothing, really."

"Didn't seem like nothing. I saw how your face lit up when you knew it was him. I never see you like that, and I've known for close to 10 years and you never giggle girlishly or blush like that." _I was blushing? _I blushed more violently now at the thought of me blushing at Tom – a never ending girlish cycle.

"He's sweet and intelligent – it's nice to meet a guy who is both British and loquacious. It's a rare combination. All of the British men I know grunt and talk about football. He's_," fabulous, gorgeous and completely out of my league_ "interesting."

"Loquacious - kinky." I nudged her gently; her dramatic over reaction led to her falling outwards and into a petulant stranger who swore violently until his swears were out of our hearing distance. As I dragged her away down the street, she let out a short confused laugh. A cafe of people glared at us as I pulled her down the road – the giggling became uncontrollable and incredibly annoying; her white linen glove clinging tightly to my arm.

"Shut up. So how's Marco?" She set off talking about how complicated their relationship had become how he had cheated on her but he still loves him. However much I wanted to listen and attempt to understand, I saw an opportunity and I took it. Her needless ramblings gave me time to let my thoughts wander. "Anyway, we're okay now, he's just so, so sweet and he makes me feel good. Bye Rose, enjoy your evening!" She shrugged before pulling me by my arm into a rigid hug and with a deep sigh she released me before skipping towards and through a heavy oak door.

"I don't see why it had to be so complicated." I muttered softly under my breath as I sighed heading down the road towards the tall block of Parisian apartment that I had audacity to call my home.

* * *

The knife drew through the paper cutting a small incision line – repeatedly – stencil graffiti has kept my sane for so many years, and my work has got bigger and better. I have been working on this piece for two years now; it would be perfect when it was ready to be. It would make a killing at the gallery – if I decided to sell it of course.

When I got home, I threw on some grey slacks and set straight to it. An epiphany hit me almost as soon as the cold air hit me. An idea is something precious – something to hold onto.

"Do you always work so passionately or is this going to be something incredible?" _Crap_. I'd left the front door open in case, Romain or Edward came up for a conversation, but this, I did not expect. The thought suddenly hit me that one the most gorgeous men I have ever met is staring directly at my sweaty sweats and filthy paint covered face. I winced quickly before twisting around to face him.

"Both." I smirked before wiping the pain from my brow with an already moist towel. I placed the knife down before walking down towards him. "I thought you were working tonight." I asserted, nervously thumbing the fabric of my sweats.

With a boyish charmed smirk he replied that his work for this evening had been cancelled. "Well, how can I help you?" I questioned him as he stood awkwardly in the doorway almost looking for or waiting for an invitation in. Doesn't he know people come and go as they please in my apartment?

"I was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite to eat somewhere but I see now, that I may have come at a bad time." His voice trailed off slowly as his crystal blue eyes examined the mess called my apartment. He took a few steps further into my apartment – he clearly didn't want to leave just yet; perhaps he has a secret agenda.

"Yes, you did," The happiness from his smile drained as the words escaped my mouth. "But not because of my work, I would drop that instantly. It's because I've already put some pasta on. I'd be willing to share it, if you'd like. Not that it's going to be brilliant."

"I'd love to. So what is all of this?" His finger pointed towards the numerous tools I had littered around my small apartment. His eyes gazing between me and the work – his innocence was carved sweetly into his flawless skin; what a great facade he has.

"Oh, it's just a...uh, project I'm working on." Once again, I found myself nervous and fumbling uselessly with papers and tools, attempting to hide them from the gaze of the gorgeous man in my apartment. "It's really nothing." I felt him standing behind me; his breath on my neck, the fabric of his clothing was brushing against my own. Hi breathing became ragged as he stood behind me. I bit my lip to hide my sheepish smirk. "Do you see these?" I leant across the table pushing my waist against his, he leant forward, placing his incredibly large and masculine hands on the table in front of me, and he leant in closer to me. I was trapped between him and the table; but I realised that there was nowhere I would rather be right now. "Its part of a city landscape design I have been walking on. It's a dream of mine, to decorate one of the walls of the apartment with it – brighten the place up a little, make it beautiful."

"It's beautiful enough with you in here." He whispered smoothly into my ear. I flipped my body around to face him.

"Tom, I..." He pressed his finger to my lip as he attempted to shush me. "Tom, the pasta!" I giggled and blushed before pushing him backwards both playfully and in a blind rush of panic, follow by me dashing away to the kitchen, to rescue my already burnt pasta sauce. A few minutes later he followed me towards the kitchen and rested against the pane of the open doorway. His arms folded in a tight coil of disappointment. "I think it will be fine." I stirred the sauce aimlessly. "So, you haven't even told me what you do for a living." I flipped around to face him for the third time this evening.

"I'm an actor. I'm working on a Woody Allen movie film that's set in Paris. I'm playing F. Scott Fitzgerald. It's a challenge but it's been incredibly fun so far!" His excitement was brimming – he clearly loved his job; like me – a large contagious grin etched onto his flawless lips.

"I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life." He smiled briefly, before staring at the floor. "That's impressive. Woody Allen doesn't ask for just anyone in his movies. You must be pretty special." I smirked knowing that there was, in fact, a hint of sarcasm in my statement.

"You've read the great Gatsby?"

"It's one of my favourite books!" I divulged happily – a feeling of warmth swallowed me whole as he smiled sweetly towards me, his eyes began exploring mine, the gap in the room between us just evaporated for a moment that lasted forever. "So why are you renting an apartment rather than staying in a beautiful five star hotel?"

"I hate hotels – I'd rather cook and clean for myself. I like looking after myself. Hotels are for holidays and for me, this isn't a holiday – it's my job."

"Oh!" I stared at him horse faced and stunned – that was an honest answer and I wasn't expecting it.

"Um Rosie?" He grinned. "The pasta sauce is burning again." Crap. I turned round in a scuttle of dread in an attempt to fix a destroyed dinner for two. Tom sorted out the pasta and placed it into two white bowls; I had left on the counter. It was strange – nobody ever offered to help me cook in my kitchen and I didn't even have to ask.

"Do you want to eat on the balcony?" I questioned him as we headed out of the kitchen, he didn't respond – he just walked out to the balcony and slumped down into one of my chairs. "Paris is perfect at night. I like to just sit and listen; it's so peaceful and perfect. Time just stands still – the streets glisten under the shine of Paris' perfection and the people shine brighter in the evening, you know, it's different during the night. _I like Frenchmen very much, because even _when they insult you they do it so nicely. We humans are never satisfied with the here and now and we're always yearning for another time, another era, where things were better than they are now. That Paris exists and anyone could choose to live anywhere else in the world will always be a mystery to me." When I turned to face him – he sat the gazing at me once again just like he did in the kitchen, and it's a look I don't like – because I can't tell what he's thinking.

"You're beautiful when you talk. You seem so passionate and so happy." He smiled but that dangerous feeling of old melancholy came over me.

"Yes, I am. Now shush and eat you food." I asserted flamboyantly. He happily obliged and for half an hour – at least – we sat in silence enjoying burnt pasts sauce and soggy pasta pieces and a delectable view of Paris. The silence was bliss and heart warming. My mother always used to say that you can always trust that a man wants your company when he has no trouble sitting in silence and enjoys doing it.

* * *

My alarm went as usual at 6 am – I slapped the button repeatedly until it finally shuttered off. I slapped my arm onto the pillow beside me – a sharp pain ran through my arm, a ruffled piece of paper lay between my arms. I picked it up between my coarsely skinned fingers and held it close to my face.

_Dear Sleeping Beauty,_

_You fell asleep on the balcony yesterday. Don't worry I tidied up the pasta bowls._

_ I had fun last night. You're great company. _

_By the way, I loved your sketches; I opened your sketch books, please don't hate me!_

_Oh! Here's my number...07561212343, text me when you wake up!_

_Hope your sleep was perfect._

_Tom. x_

_Oh crap!_ How did I manage to fall asleep on the balcony? That never happens. Oh god. He looked through my sketches? Oh god. I rolled over with a groan and slammed my eyes shut.

* * *

_**Morning Tom! Thanks for tucking me in last night.**_

_**I feel like such a child. Haha! **_

_**R x**_

Wrapping myself up warmly in my white and woolly dressing gown, I set off to spend my morning off on the sofa reading Parade's end. Parade's end has always been a favourite of mine – the British television programme was spectacular as well – as I opened the first creased page of a my battered copy, I couldn't stop my thoughts from wandering back to the events of the last night.

_**Rosie! Good morning! How did you sleep?**_

_**T x**_

I grinned sheepishly – that was quick reply, was he waiting for my text?

_**My sleep was great, thanks. What are you doing now?**_

_**R x**_

I turned the second page of my battered copy and continued on reading. There is nothing as reassuring the feel of a book under your hands and as the words sink into your skin.

_**I'm having my make up done for my next scene. *sigh* I'm bored. Are you at work?**_

_**T x**_

I placed my phone down on the coffee table and let my thoughts wander back to the book. I found my hand trailing back to the phone. I responded simply:

_**No, no I'm not. I should probably do some photography today but I really can't be bother yet. Haha! I'll let you get back to your filming. Have fun!**_

_**R x**_

_**So what are you doing? – if not photography or your job.**_

_**T x**_

_**Reading Parade's end. No stop talking to me – you should be preparing for work.**_

_**R x**_

I got an instantaneous response:

_**Forgive me but get off your backside and take some beautiful photos. I'll see you later then? For the moveable feast?**_

_**T x**_

_Oh fuck!_ I forgot about that; I threw my phone on the sofa and made a dash for the bathroom. So much for resting!


	3. Custard

**Sorry if this isn't great but I'm trying to do this and get ready for college, nevertheless, hope you enjoy and please review! I like to know if people are enjoying the story! Thanks to plume-noire6 for the french translations - nicest person I've met on here so far! **

**Enjoy! - A x**

"Don't start Anna. Just tell me what to wear or so help me God." I pushed the phone away from my face and sighed profoundly before speaking again. "Do I dress up or not?" I ordered down the phone, and one of the things I love about Anna is she isn't frightened of my threats but she knows how to stop when I'm being serious. She told me it would best for me to put on my red satin dress which clung tightly to my skin, to show Tom all of my curves – I took her advice. However, in the process of finding this dress, the perfect dress, I had to throw half of the wardrobe out and onto my bed, the floor, the chair and anything else that would hold the clothes; all of this done with the phone press tightly to my ear. I pulled out a plain cream box, the rim around the box showed a small intricate rose vine; within it layer upon layer of sugar paper to protect the irrationally expensive dress. "Okay, what shoes?"

"The black heels, I bought you for your birthday last year." I fished them out from beneath the clothes and placed them beside of the open box. "Well, I have to go. Marco wants to go out for a romantic walk. So good look Rosie! Try not to embarrass yourself too much in front of him." I went to protest at the unfairness of the statement but she cut me off; a usual occurrence. "I know what you're like! Bye gorgeous!" She hung up. I slipped out of my jeans and into my dress, splashing on some make up, minimalistic and subtle. The dress had a thin black belt that hung gently on my hips and the fabric was soft against my warmed sun skin. A few moments after finishing my makeup, the door bell went and with a deep encouraging breath, I answered with a smile - it wasn't Tom. "Romain, bon soir!"

"Bon soir Rosie. Quelque chose est arrivé et nous ne pouvons pas faire cela ce soir. Désolé." He gave an apologetic wince.

"Ce n'est pas grave. Est-ce que tout va bien ?" I soothed, rubbing the palm of my hand down his bicep. His mysterious green eyes troubled and dark and his eyes had reddened and his hair was flat and bland. His usually appearance is amiable and flattering – his hair is a crimson brown and always carefully arranged, his green eyes always sparkle and shine, whatever company he keeps and wherever he is, he has a careful and precise taste in fashion and an easy heart warming smile.

"Oui. Bonne nuit, Rosie." He turned upon his heel and sauntered down the flight of stairs in a blind flush of panic.

Tom came bounding up the steps, two or three at a time, as I stood befuddled in the doorway. My jaw dropped as I saw him – his suit was black and done up by one small black button, the shirt he wore was the classic white but two buttons undone at the top, revealing a small portion of his toned chest and his ruffled hair remained ruffled and untamed, it's brown – ginger tint sparkling under the bright lights of the corridor. His eyes caught mine and as he bounded towards me, he waved happily and flashed me his boyish grin. He stopped in front of me, leaning forward to kiss my cheek softly, pulling back with a grin. "Hello, darling, you look beautiful." I felt my cheeks burn incomprehensibly; I looked down to hide my embarrassment.

"Thanks; you don't look so bad yourself, but um, Romain just came up to tell that tonight is cancelled." I shrugged my shoulders and forced my eyes to me his gaze.

"I passed him on the stairs. Is he okay?" I moved out of the doorway and into the apartment, he followed me in and shut the door.

"I'm not sure, he wouldn't say. But there is no use wasting such a beautiful apple pie!" He smiled and reached down into the carrier bag – I did not notice it before – and pulled out small tin.

"With _CUSTARD_!" I laughed at his child like behaviour – he's clearly a fan of pudding. He flung the can of custard in my direction; I caught it with the tips of my fingers clinging desperately to the bottom of the metal can. "Got it?" He smirked as he dived towards me in an attempt to save his custard.

"Yeah I'm good." I protested as he went to take the can away from me. I reached up grab a saucepan from the rack, the pan grazed my fingers, tempting and mocking me but remaining forever out of my reach. He reached up behind me, his waist grazing against my body and grabbed the pan for me, handing it to me with a smirk. "Thanks." I smiled softly as my body and mind became more and more flustered by every second. _Why does he have to tease me so?_

"No problem! So did you take any beautiful photos today or did you just lounge around the sofa all day?" He watched me intently whilst I put the crumble in the oven and poured the custard into the pan, I felt my cheeks burn up as his eyes burned through my pale white skin.

"They're on the counter over there." I pointed without risking facing him. I listened as his shoes pattered over my laminate wooden floor, stopping at the table briefly, then the pattering continued as he headed – swiftly – back towards me. He jumped up onto the red kitchen island in the centre of the room. I watched him with my cheeks as red as fresh strawberries and burning up to temperatures higher than the sun.

"These are incredible!" He flicked through them for a second time at double the speed, smiling brightly. "What sort of camera did you use?"

"I used a Lomo camera, the Lomo LC-A+, it's good for artistic photos. I'm not sure those photos are good enough for the gallery yet." I shrugged at him; an eerily dry silence snaked into the air. I picked up my camera from the coffee table in the lounge and went back into the kitchen, his eyes fixed on the same one photo. "It's this camera." I handed it to him, his fingers slipped over mine as he held it there for a little longer than he should have. I smiled and looked away, as he fiddled nervously with the buttons on my camera. I took back off him and said: "Like this, you moron, you take a photo like this." I snapped the camera button directly in the face, the flash lighting up his face. "You see?" I flashed it again, laughing hysterically at the evil glint in his eyes. He got off the counter, grabbing me by the wrists laughing; I squirmed under his wrist, but still pressing the button with camera in his face. He snatched the camera out of my hands and placed it down on the table; his threw his arm around my waist, pulling me against him in one quick movement. He pushed a loose strand of hair from cheek, placing it around my ear, trailing his knuckles against my jaw line, pulling my face up to his, he was so close, I could feel his warm breath on me and I felt his smile and his pulled closer to me.

A yellow messy explosion destroyed the moment – and my kitchen – covering us both in its almost toxic remains. I screamed as the custard plastered over us both; throwing my arms up to my hair. Tom laughed softly, as he wiped the custard off of his face.

* * *

He flipped down onto the sofa beside me laughing. His bare shoulders touching mine, his laugh was both a long sigh and a memory of the kitchen incident, and his toned body glimmered under the moonlight that shone through the open balcony doors. The white curtains blowing in the soft breeze, the breeze travelled through the room, around the back of my neck and through the tips of my wet hair, drying it naturally, and slowly.

"That teaches us to ignore the custard." He joked, nudging my arm softly. "Is your camera okay?" He gazed down at me; I had slumped down further into the chair, I couldn't stand being so close to him without the urge to roll over onto to him and mount him.

"Its fine, I think you took the custard for it," I laughed softly with a swift shake of my head. "I'm curious to see the photos we took though." I said softly whilst picking the camera up from the coffee table. I slipped onto the floor and up to my feet – Tom watching my every move carefully. I sat down at my laptop, smiling at the screensaver of me and Anna; she was kissing my cheek, my own face scrunched up in a ball of mess.

We went to Cannes on a mini – break after the last time she broke up with a boy. We sat outside a pub and worked our way through beer upon beer and martini upon martini. The sun set over France as we drank our sorrows away, with every round of drinks there was a photo and with every round of drink they got worse and more vulgar. This photo was after two. "Hey Tom, these photos are actually really good. Come look." He jogged over to me in his grey sweats which he had changed into after the custard incident – _why didn't he put on a t-shirt? _I flicked quickly through the photos, he smiled crazily in each one, I paused on the first one we were both in, he had turned the camera on us, he stared down into my eyes and I stared back up at him. One of his arms was around my back and his smiled crooked and playful. I hadn't seen him like that before. He leant down towards me, his face beside mine.

"I like this one." He pointed his fingers out slightly. His soft cheek grazing my own, his flawless face next to me – a broken skinned, white girl covered in flaws and faults. I couldn't help but wonder why Tom had wanted to kiss me in the kitchen earlier.

"Yes," I smiled half heartedly. "The lighting _is_ great in this photo." He nudged me playfully with a hearty laugh.

"That's not what I meant." His hand slid across the back of my chair, and his thumb glided across my back. He speedily spun my chair around to face him, his face close to mine, closer than we were in the kitchen, his crooked playful smile lingered on lips once more. "This is where we were earlier. I'd like to go back to that moment, darling." My pocket vibrated and a crude British song blared through the apartment, Tom moved away, flailing his arms about in the air, in total exasperation. I winced at his aggravation.

"Sorry. I should get this. She never calls." I stood up, rushing past him holding the phone to my ear. When I got out in the empty corridor, I answered the phone to a crying and morose Anna. "What is it? What's the matter?" I whispered down the phone, my heart raced as time passed – she didn't speak, she just cried down the phone. "Annabelle?"

"Rosie, he hit me. Across the face. I don't know... he was so... I couldn't stop him..Can I come round?" Her voice fractured and a hum of melancholy at the back of her throat. I looked into the apartment; Tom was sat mindlessly spinning on the chair, his head looking up at my ceiling, revealing his prominent jaw line and gorgeous neck.

"Of course, get here quickly. I'll see you soon." I hung up the phone rushing back into my apartment. "Um, Anna's been hit...by her boyfriend. She's coming round to talk. I'm so sorry, Tom." His jaw dropped, as he shot to his feet, moving towards me. He pulled me by my shoulder into him; I hit his warm chest, as his arms wrapped around the very bottom of my waist.

"It's fine. It'll be fine." He pulled his chest back from me, moving his hand to the tip of my chin pulling me up to look at him. He smiled softly. "I should go. I'll see you another time. Bye, my darling." He kissed my cheek softly, lingering as he did it. When he pulled back, he gazed down at me briefly sighing softly before leaving my apartment and me alone – confused and aroused by the evening's events.

* * *

Anna had fallen asleep on my sofa, with a thin soft blanket over her and a cushioned pillow beneath her head - her eyes red and the skin beneath her eyes tormented and swollen. A soft knock came on my door in the late evening, the sun had set and the moon hung happily in the sky surrounded by hundreds of glimmering stars – silence had slipped through the streets swiftly as the lamps came on and the cars parked up for the evening.

Wrapping my linen dressing gown around me, hiding my shorts and topless body; I pattered bare foot over to the door and opened it slightly, hiding the light from the corridor. Tom stood there in his pyjamas, smiling softly at me, but no matter how hard he tried to smile sweetly, he couldn't hide the concern in her eyes.

"How is she?" He whispered picking up on the situation quickly.

"Fine, just a little shaken up; nothing a little vodka couldn't cure."

He smiled softly and spoke "Come for coffee with me tomorrow; early – before work. Please, we didn't get to finish our date properly tonight, you owe me."

"That was a date." I dropped my jaw in fake disgust and smiled instantly afterwards.

"Yes, so will you come?"

"Yes, of course!" I smiled before shushing him and shutting the door, resting my back against it, grinning like a childish school girl. I slipped off to bed.


	4. The Kiss

**Okay, I'm going to try to write from Tom's point of view. I'm sure whether or not it will work. But we shall see. This chapter will be his thoughts from after the custard explosion.**

**Tom's P.O.V**

"I'm going to go have a shower." I kissed her softly on the cheek, tasting the sweet flavour of custard; I smirked as I pulled back. Her hair was soaked in the yellowy liquid and it had dried and stuck to the follicles of her rosy cheeks. Her beautiful, skin tight, and very revealing red dress now destroyed by the master of both desert toppings and killing the moment. I headed off down the corridor thinking about how close to kissing her I had been in the kitchen, I felt her warm and quickened breath on my face – her breath minty and refreshed.

I undressed quickly, peeling the custard covered shirt from my skin. I didn't even think we'd used that much custard. I slid into the shower, closing my eyes as the cool liquid drenched and refreshed my skin. I wonder if she is in the shower yet, _is the rest of her body as flawless as the parts of her I have seen so far._ I couldn't stop myself, I couldn't help but picture her naked, lying on my bed as I stood over her, watching her. I traced my hand down my chest and gently began to stroke myself to the thought of her naked body. I breathing quickly became ragged over the thought of her body covered in luscious soaps as she struggled to get rid of the custard which covered her skin. I pictured myself touching her, grabbing her and pushing her up against the wall, planting soft kisses down her jaw line and down her neck, I stroked faster and faster, my back pressed against the wall of the shower. I ran my free hand through my soaked hair, picturing her touching me and pulling on my hair as I slowly entered myself into her, her legs wrapped tightly around my waist. I stroked myself as fast as I could, breathing heavily, quickly finding my release. I collapsed in a heap on the shower floor, the water still constantly dripping over my head; I closed my eyes and slowed my breathing. _What is this strange hold that she has over me?_

I threw on a pair of a grey sweats, that I'd left on my bed from my morning workout and quickly headed back over to her apartment – topless and bare foot.

"Hey, my darling. Feeling refreshed?" She smiled sheepishly up at me, blushing slightly but never looking me directly in the eye; maybe she did the same thing as me in the shower? She turned on her heels and sat down on the couch uncomfortably, I slumped down beside her – making sure our skin was touching – with a nervous laugh. We sat in an awkward silence. "That teaches us to ignore the custard!" I joked attempting to start up the conversation; maybe I could swing around to what happened in the kitchen before the custard incident. I remembered that I'd put her camera on the side, I asked her if it was okay. I didn't want to be responsible for her camera being destroyed.

"Its fine, I think you saved it from the custard attack." She looked away from me blushing once more, softly shaking her head, her damp hair flopping around with it. "I'm curious to see the photos we took though." _Of course! The causation of the almost kiss._ I glanced down at her smiling; she'd been thinking about it too, she _wanted_ me to kiss her. She_ wanted_ to be with me. She picked up the camera and skipped nonchalantly over to her computer and loaded up software. I watched intently – this is what she did day in, day out. "Hey Tom, come and take a look, these photos are great!" I slipped up behind her, bending down, keeping as close to her as I possibly could, she drives me crazy. She began flicking aimlessly through photo upon photo of me smiling, frowning, laughing – but she paused at the first one of both us together. The camera was above us, one of my hands around her waist and the other up trying to steal the camera from her. I loved this photo – I looked at how she looked at me, she'd been biting her lip when teasing me, god that turns me on.

"I like this one." I pointed at the photo, making sure saw my actions as I did it. I purposely grazed the side of her face with my cheek.

"Yes, the lighting is good in this photo." She teased, I look sideways at her, and she attempted to conceal a smirk from me. _Was she teasing me? _I nudged her playfully, but whispered seductively that, that was not what I had meant. I slid my hand around the back of the chair, grazing my thumb across the fabric of her t-shirt. I gripped the chair, spinning her around the face me, and with wide eyes she stared at me expectantly. I can't even describe how much I want her. I smiled mysteriously at her tempting her closer to me. "This is where we were earlier. I'd like to go back to that moment, darling." I whispered to her, her eyes closing when my breath hit her skin. I bit my lip softly, replicating what she had done to me in the kitchen. Just as I moved into kiss her, the song Sexy and I know it came blaring out of her pocket. I sighed moving away from her, throwing my arms into the air. I just want to kiss her, to hold her, to be with her _but things just keep getting in the way. _

"Sorry, I should get this. It's Anna and she never calls." A look of worry gleamed in her deep, mysterious brown eyes. She left hurriedly and shut the apartment door behind them. I slumped down into the chair she had just sat in – and spun around aimlessly, watching the ceiling blur into one white ball of mess. I waited for a few minutes, just spinning with my head back. "Um...Anna's been hit... by her boyfriend. She wants to come round to talk. I'm so sorry Tom." She winced at the thought of Anna being hit – I knew that was what she was thinking about. I tear slipped from the corner of her eyes – I moved quickly to her pulling her into a tight hug, holding her at my chest, rocking back and forth slightly. When I pulled myself back to look at her, she wouldn't look up at me; she just stared down my chest, I rubbed my knuckle along her jaw, stopping at her chin to pull her face up softly to look at me. Her eyes filled with pain and worry; it hurt me that she was hurt.

With a smile I said: "It's fine. It'll all be fine." I kissed her cheek softly before pulling away from her and skulking slowly back to my own apartment wallowing in my disappointed hopes for that evening.

* * *

The sofa cocooned me as I lay in a deep trance replaying those precious moments that I had spent with Rosie. I got the same strange feeling every time I was with her – normality. Over the past few years, I have been so caught up in my job and my fans and my fame that I'd lost track of what's really important. I haven't spent a night in, in about two years. I haven't stopped and everybody I meet is so focused on me as a celebrity or as a character, but when I was around Rosie, she didn't care that I was famous – in fact, I wasn't entirely sure that she knows how famous I am.

I rolled over restlessly trying to nap or sleep but nothing was happening. I couldn't help but worry about Anna, worry about Rosie_. It's been three hours, that's long enough for a talk, should I go over and check that they are okay?_ I slipped into a pair of black dress shoes from the failed dinner plan this evening and sneaked quietly over to her apartment, glancing at my watch quickly before knocking softly on the door. It didn't take long for her to get there, I was gladly welcomed with a look of relief and sanctuary on her face. She only half opened the door but the hallway lights lit up her body and face. She wore a very seductive short, patterned, linen dressing gown but I couldn't see the line of a top, was she not wearing one? Her hair was neatly tied up revealing the curve of her neck.

"How is she?" I whispered quietly, flashing concern in a half hearted smile. I picked up quickly that she was still there.

"Fine, just a little shaken up; nothing a little vodka couldn't cure." I wanted to laugh, to lighten the mood slightly, but it was neither the right time nor the right place; so I smiled weakly before blurting out an invitation for coffee tomorrow.

"Please, we didn't get to finish our date properly tonight, you owe me." I added quietly, she flashed a toothy grin.

"That was a date." Her jaw dropped mockingly – she was relaxing up more and more now.

"Yes, so will you come?" I tried not to sound too eager but I really wanted to see her again and I wanted to kiss her even more so.

"Yes, of course!" She smiled before shushing me, shutting the door in my face. I smiled, I couldn't help but notice that I was really falling for this girl.

* * *

I rolled over in my bed, removing my sweats quickly; discarding them onto the bedside chair, and smiling with glee, as I thought of the prospects tomorrow brings. Picking up my phone, I glanced at the time, 11:45pm, I texted Rosie:

**Can't wait to see you tomorrow! Tonight was fun. Thanks.**

**T xx**

I clutched the phone tightly with both hands eagerly awaiting a response. The bright lights attacking my eyes primitively, but they kept me awake, so I didn't mind.

**Me too! Hopefully we can finish what we started tonight; properly.**

**R xx**

**I hope we can too. Eager to see you once more, my darling; Sweet dreams.**

**T xx**

**Sweet dreams, Tom. **

**R xx**

I rolled over throwing my phone onto the bed beside, hoping for a blissful dream about her. Could I really fall so quickly for a girl I met five days ago – I won't say I'm in love yet but I'm falling for her – quickly.

* * *

"So, when you said coffee, you actually meant coffee to go." She turned to face me, smirking.

"Yes, well, I thought we could walk and talk whilst drinking coffee." I handed her a cup, her well groomed nails slid around the cup with a grateful smile. I offered her my hand willingly, hopefully, and when she took it, her warm hand sent shivers through my frozen hand. "So how is Anna?" She sighed once her named slipped from my lips; we set off down through the dawning streets of Paris.

"She didn't tell me much, she just said they had been arguing about a girl Marco had been talking to and he got mad and he threatened her and she just kept pushing him and pushing him and he just snapped. He slapped her once, she hit him back and then he punched her to shut her up. He left and she rang me." She stopped walking and perched herself onto the ledge of the bridge, settling herself against a golden statue. I leaned against the wall to face her. The river swam violently underneath us, the crashing waves smashing into the walls of the bridge. The sun was raising slowly, the black night sky disappearing into a perfect pink sunrise - a sunrise that was greeting Paris and shining off the rooftops and increasing the city's beauty – the sun bounced off of Rosie's perfect skin, she licked her lips as she closed her eyes absorbing the suns early rays. A blue denim shirt with small paints stains hung off her shoulders and a pair of black jeans clung tightly to her legs snaking underneath a pair of black boots. She looked perfect. "Oh God Tom, if you had seen her last night. She was so scared, so alone, so betrayed. I felt useless and helpless."She had removed her hand from mine to wipe away the tears in her eyes, my heart thudded, I hated seeing her like this. I wish I could just make it all go away.

"I should've stayed last night, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bolted." I rubbed her cheek softly with my thumb until she looked up at me; the pain in her eyes tortured my own as she stared up at me – the pain had stolen her happiness and engulfed her peace of mind.

"It wouldn't have made a difference if you'd stayed, it's not your fault, so don't apologise." She held her hand up in front of me warning me not to try it again. "Please, let's just talk about something else." She brushed the tips of her fingers against my arm, making my whole body shiver with delight; it's a rare feeling, when someone you barely know can make you crumble with a single touch or a single glance.

"Yes, sorry, of course, so when did you move to Paris? Was it straight after Cambridge or..?"I saw her glance off over the bridge, looking away before flashing a smile – a fake, tormented and forced smile – my way.

"I travelled for a little while, around Europe, so France, Germany, Spain, Italy and Greece, attempting to clear my thoughts, Paris was the last place I visited and I never left because _I fell in love_." She must've seen the disappointment in my eyes – that's something I had never considered; she was already in love. "With the city, not with a person, Tom." I smiled at the concrete wall, I couldn't force myself to look up at her, I bit my lip with a quirk of my eyebrows, before offering her some of my Nutella sandwich. She took it ripping off a small piece and handing it back. I smiled before flinging the rest into my mouth, scrunching up the packet around it. "Anyway, I found an apartment and things just started from there. What about you, what did you do after Cambridge?" How did she know I had been to Cambridge? I'd never told her that. "I saw the logo on your jogging bottoms, I'm sorry I just assumed..."  
"No you're right I did, I just didn't know you'd seen that. I went to RADA and then drifted around for a little while," I began to tell her everything I had done in the past 10 years, and as boring as it must've been to hear she sat there nodding along and hanging on my every word. "and anyway, here I am, working with Woody Allen and happier than ever, and I'm rambling, I'm sorry; I don't mean to bore you."

"You weren't boring me, I like listening to you talk." She admitted with a sweet rosy blush. I smirked at her compliment and I'm making her so awkward and fidgety just by staring at her. I felt a soft wet drop splatter down onto my head, cooling my burning cheeks as it slid down my face and trailed down my neck to the fabric of my t-shirt followed by another and another. "Oh crap, it's raining!" She grabbed my hand and pulled me off the bridge quickly, her hand holding my tightly as the rain hit us faster and faster. People began frantically rushing down the street, pulling out umbrellas and pulling up hoods and zipping up jackets. She dragged me down the steps and under the bridge, her hair was damp and small drops of rain slipped down her cheek. Her hand gripped my shirt pulling me to her, with a smile, her back hit the wall and seconds later pulling my lips down to hers. Suddenly I found myself drunk on her scent and I just wanted to stand here and kiss her all day, I closed my eyes and kissed her back; getting over the shock that she'd kiss me, I slipped my arm around her back pulling her waist to my own. I deepened the kiss, absorbing her scent entirely, savouring the moment, the sweet, perfect moment; until she pulled back and bit her lip which concealed a smirk.

"What was that for?" I asked her, keeping my hands on her back.

"I thought it would be romantic in the rain." She shrugged. "But, now I'm just wet, a little cold and hungry for another kiss." I smiled as my phone began to vibrate in my pocket; I winced as I reluctantly dropped my hands from her waist to answer it.

It was Letty, one of the producers – they wanted me to come in early to do a run through, I sighed before agreeing to be there in half an hour.

"I'm so sorry Rosie but I have been on set in half an hour, so once again, we have to cut this short." She frowned softly before shaking her head softly – she does that, a lot.

"Its fine, I guess I'll see you later." She went to walk away when I grabbed her arm pulling her back into me. I flung my leather jackets around her shoulders and rubbed her arms in a measly attempt to warm her up.

"It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to let you walk home by yourself would it?" She smirked and reminded me she knew Paris better than I did. "Still, please let me take you home."

"Fine, come on. We'd better hurry up then." We walked down the street in almost silence, my heart thudding and my head spinning. She slipped her hand back into mine, ducking into my arm slightly, she was shivering and smiling. But all I could think about was that I had finally kissed her, or she'd kissed me, it didn't matter either way – it was perfect, the rain dripped over our skin and her skin heated as I deepened the kiss. I'm not sure how long it lasted or when the rain stopped but I couldn't take my mind off how she looked when she pulled away. Her shirt was soaked and it clung to her skin revealing her figure, she looked up at me with her beautiful brown eyes and bit her full lips. What was it Shakespeare once wrote?

Eternity was in our lips and eyes,  
Bliss in our brows' bent; none our parts so poor  
But was a race of heaven.

I'd got so lost in my thoughts I hadn't realised we'd got back our apartment building. "...so, anyway, I'll see you around." She kissed my cheek on her tip toes, lingering before skipping up the steps and through the open front door.

And with a smile, I hailed a cab.

* * *

Rosie's P.O.V

I skipped all the way up the apartment; I was so sure my happiness was radiating from my skin. I picked up my mail from the kitchen finding a small white envelope, hand written and for some reason seemed fill with sadness and shame. I hurried to open it. It read:

_**à Rosie,**_

_**J'ai le regret de vous informer que Leonard Cecamore mort le 24 de ce mois.**_

_**Il y aura un enterrement le 4 Septembre**_

_**J'espère que vous pouvez le faire.**_

_**Mariéne Cecamore.**_

I lost all control of my muscles and fell to the floor burying my head in my hands. Not Leonard. Why? Why Leonard?

* * *

**Sorry if the translations are wrong! Really wanted to get the chapter up! Please review. French translations: **

**To Rosie,**

**I regret to inform you Leonard Cecamore died on the 24****th**** of this month.**

**There will be a funeral on the 4****th**** of September. **

**I hope you can make it.**

_**Mariéne Cecamore.**_


	5. Leonard Cecamore

**Sorry this has taken so long, I've been so busy in college! This one is quite short, it's just an explanation to the cliff hanger. I hope you enjoy! Thank you for all the kind words also! A x**

**French translations:**

**[1] You should've told me straight away**

**[2] I had a right to know**

**[3]I'm sorry Rosie, I didn't seem fair for me to tell you.**

**[4] Are you going to go?**

**[5] I don't know. I doesn't seem right for me to go, his wife will be there and I don't think I can deal with that. She doesn't know.**

**Of course if these are wrong please do not hesitate to tell me!**

"Tu aurais dû me le dire sur-le-champ [1]" I yelled at Romain, his strained eyes glancing around the room but never settling and never reaching me. "J'avais le droit de savoir ![2]!"

"Je suis désolé Rosie, je ne me sentais pas en droit de te le dire.[3]" I could not believe this was happening to me; Romain knew how I felt about him, but he let me find out through a funeral invitation in the post! "Est-ce que tu iras ?[4]?" I sighed with a slow lick of my bottom lip. Romain and I, we must have stood in careful silence for a while – the sun was now setting over Paris, it hadn't been before; the streets below our steps were emptying quickly, tourists had flooded our street with their loud chatter and their camera flash and the inexplicable excitement last time I looked.

Je ne sais pas. ça ne me semble pas correcte d'y aller, sa femme sera là et je ne crois pas que je peux lui faire face. Elle ne sait pas.[5]" I know I should be focusing on the death of a friend but I couldn't – how was Tom going to take this? He thinks he can trust me, but I'm just a filthy little nobody. Romain unbuttoned his shirt, the dark hairs of his chest clung to his skin and the sweat dripped down his body, beads of sweat gathered and slipped off his forehead. He was nervous – he had reason to be.

"Rosie, my darling, hello!" Tom cool voice slithered through the doorway, shocking both Romain and myself into a state of panic. I jumped to alert like a soldier receiving orders from his captain, facing him, he hadn't shaved today—the stubble collected on his face, in little golden groups, his eyes glimmered under the glow of the kitchen light and his few chest hairs poked up from behind his low cut t-shirt. He came over to kiss me, his lips heading towards my own, I winced - and like a knee jerk reaction – I twisted my head around so that his warm wet lips met the soft part of my cheek; I could feel his excruciating disappointment when his lips graced my cheek briefly. "Is everything okay?" I winced again, I wish I could stop and just act. Act like it was fine – but I'm always behind the camera. I don't do the spotlight and crowd deal. It's not my thing.

"Everything is fine. Just peachy." With a sigh I slipped past him and out of the door, my feet firmly on the ground, not a bounce or a skip in my step. I found myself walking along the _Quai de Montebello_ which was faintly close to the river Seine which waltzed gracefully by my side. It's a quiet street, trees lapsed almost upon each other, shading me from the dangerous moon, a few cafes littered the opposite side of the street, a few familiar faces laughing and smiling appreciatively as they saw me walk slowly past, my hands dug into my pockets. I had a happy life here in Paris, friends and family, the perfect job, a happy life, plenty of laughs and plenty of alcohol. Paris helped me to forget Leonard, the first man I let into my heart and the first man to break my heart in two. I'd kept away from love since then – despite the constant annoyances from Anna, the loved up girl from Cambridge – and then Tom came along and things became interesting and intense again.

I can't tell him about Leonard and I can't go to the funeral – in fact I could – but I don't _want_ to.

Plonking myself deep down into an uncomfortable chair in an unrecognised cafe, I ordered a coffee and a croissant from an incredulously polite and unfairly underpaid waitress who smiled and listened intently and rested my head back to soak up the cool and quiet air as I calmed my racing heat. I could feel the metal of the chair leaving an indent into my skin as I latched myself tightly and unintentionally to the chair. Another biker pulled up in his over used leather catastrophe on his mid life crisis. Why do men do that? Why buy a bike? His unzipped his gear coolly, slipping into a chair in the corner, pulling a notepad from his top pocket and setting immediately to work, for his remaining time at the cafe, curiosity etched under my skin, curiosity towards the things he was writing. Was he a writer? A journalist? A poet? I often play a game where I create a life for a person who walks past me; they can be anybody I want them to be. I set my head back down. A sudden gentle bang on the table woke me from a light sleep – the polite and gracious waitress had returned with my coffee and with a quick smile she scurried away and out my sight.

Then I saw a rushing hidden body, frantically spinning and twirling around, hands flailing around in a repetitious process from his head, briefly to his pockets and back up to his head. It wasn't until the shadow came closer, I realised the soft stubbly chin and his deep but bright blue eyes, I saw him, and he saw me. Jeez, can't a girl catch a break around here? His shoulders drooped and he bounded with two jumps across the empty road, sitting down opposite me.

I didn't say anything, I didn't want to. I didn't look up at him either, I couldn't. This isn't the movies; I don't expect him to reach across the table and hold my hand in silence, caressing the very tip of my skin, watching me intently until the sun goes down. I don't expect him to kiss me by an exploding fountain, telling me that it will all be okay. I don't expect him to forgive me fully for whatever I've done and love me unconditionally. This thing, they call it love but it's just a fantasy. Women need to grow up and accept men don't do this and things will not always be okay. That doesn't exist – this isn't the movies, and I have to face my daemons.

"When I said, I hadn't fallen in love in Paris that was a lie. I did, and it was with the wrong guy and I'm sorry. I never expected to hear from him again." I laughed softly. "Funnily enough, I won't because..." I slipped my back against the chair and looked up at him. "He's dead."

"So you lied." He shrugged, whipping the corner of his mouth up. "We all do. I kind of had a feeling there would've been someone in the five or six years you'd lived here. In fact, I expected it. Am I hurt you felt like you needed to lie? Yes. But it doesn't matter – you're not cheating me, you say it's over, I believe you. If you say you're hurt because he's dead, I'll comfort you. If you say you don't care, we won't talk about him. If you want to go to the funeral, I'll be there by your side. I'll do all of this because I care about you and who you are and I will respect whatever decision you make, because what we've had so far, yes has been short but I wouldn't change a second. I'm happy and I want to make you happy like you were when we first met. So, please, just tell me what I should do."

"Oh please, so you're telling me that it doesn't bother and that it's all okay?" I hit him with an unbalanced scoff and I realised how much more that hurt him than any punch I could throw or any knife I could drive through him. My _words_ hurt him.

"Oh my darling, wake up and smell the fresh air!" He slipped from the back of his chair, arching towards me – we were completely level. "Of course, I'm not okay with the fact you lied. It feels like you've driven a stake through my heart and ripped it through my body. But it's not what you lie about, it's just the fact you lied. I don't care who you've slept with, as long as you're not still sleeping with them. I don't care if you've slept with half of France for Christ's sake." He'd leant in further towards me, he whispered once more that he didn't care. I took a daring sip of my coffee, the hot liquid, oozed and swirled around my mouth before heating my throat and body. When had it gotten so cold?

"Okay, okay, fine." I looked into his eyes for the first time today. He relaxed as he saw me smile, I couldn't resist the temptation, leaning across the table – my cheek grazing his. "I've only slept with the good half of France" I whispered as seductively as I could manage into his ear, before grabbing the lobe of his ear between my teeth and releasing with the softest kiss. His breathing became ragged, I laughed once more before sitting back into my seat.

"So tell me about him." He dragged the coffee cup from my grasp dragging it up to his lips, waiting for me to begin.

"There's not much to tell. I was new here, just settling in and he was there for me when no one else was. Anna didn't come to Paris until about a year later. She'd been studying in Lyon. I couldn't help but fall in love with him. Turns out, that none of it was real, he was married. They were on a break. I don't know. He just left. I hadn't heard anything from or about him since... until today."

"Okay, that's fine but promise me one thing?" His phone rang, he looked from his phone to me and back to his phone.

"Anything." He smiled and answered his phone – he didn't say anything but goodbye, it was a short conversation but each second took another drop of his happiness. He excused himself, telling me he had to work. _Go figure_. But before he left, he pulled me to my feet, pushing his lips against mine. I rested my arms over his shoulder, my fingers softly running through his fine golden hair. His arms had snaked their way around my waist once more. He pulled away.

"Don't lie to me again." He winked before resting his lips on mine once more. "God, I don't want to stop doing that." I laughed. "But I have to go. Bye, ma chérie." I watched him from the sidewalk, just until he turned the corner. His leather jacket rested casually on his shoulders, tight black jeans and boots – casual Tom. I liked him like that.

I placed myself into the chair that he had got up from, a Cheshire grin graced my lips. He really knows how to woo a girl.


	6. Flashbacks

**Hello! Thanks for all the reviews, feel free to love more. I love hearing from you guys. Here is the next chapter! I hope you like it! Anything in Italics is past tense. Enjoy!**  
**A x**

"So, how long have you known Romain? You two seem very close." Tom's words dragged me out of a calmed and focused state. My head lay in his lap; my feet, dangling over the edge of the sofa and his eyes, now soft, glared down at my own. His red shirt half open revealing his almost hairless chest, his ruffled hair blowing softly under the cool breeze of his broken air conditioning. For the past half an hour, I had just lay with my head in his lap, in total – peaceful – silence. I like that we have so much to talk about but we can just sit here and be alone with one another.

"Since I moved to Paris really; he's one of the artists who works for me and Anna, he does landscape drawings – good ones too! He's like a brother to me. He has helped me through so much, I owe him everything. He helped me get onto my feet with my art; he helped me with my French, which was, in fact, almost as bad as yours when I got here. He's always been there. I owe him for everything I have here. I was so lost. So alone." Those words I had succumbed to admitting to him made my mind wander once more.

_I skulked up the steps; the buildings here are all so tall and ancient – nothing like London; nothing like the UK – with my grey back pack of old clothes on my shoulder and a small cardboard box of memories slouched beneath my arm, I knocked lightly, twice, upon the heavy wooden door, another French thing, I think. A man quickly appeared at the door, a boisterous grin on his face, an open checked shirt upon his shoulders and no trousers. _

"_Vous faut d'etre Rosie; je m'appelle Romain. Entrez, si vous plait." He moved out of the way of the door, his shirt swinging behind him flashing the whitest pair of underwear, revealing a modest kitchen and public lounge. Even though my room has a kitchen, he told me I had full use of the one downstairs if I should so choose. I began to look around downstairs, carefully running my fingers along walls and works of art. But in my typical fashion, I wrapped my foot around my other leg and fell to the ground, throwing my box of faded memories quickly to the floor. Romain rushed to my side, helping me to my knees, then helping me collect the scattered photos, his elongated fingers scratching against the marble floors. He smiled before taking my hands and pulling me to my feet. "Attention, __ç__a va?"_

"_Bien, mais fatigu__é__e" He smiled. It took me about an hour to settle in with the help of Romain, we talked for what seemed like minutes after that. He's an artist, like me, trying to find himself, like me, French, not like me. I liked him._

"Hey," Tom's fingers grazed my arm softly, tugging me slightly, pulling me towards him slightly – and back to reality. "Are you okay, my darling?" He soothingly stroked the skin of my arm with his fingers, rhythmically, his eyes still blazing down into mine.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking." I felt him laugh softly; his lips graced my forehead unexpectedly, lingering momentarily before he rested his head on the back to the sofa.

"I'll leave you to your thoughts then." I wanted to talk to Tom, to tell him everything; I knew he was desperate for it. His curiosity would someday hurt him. I don't know if he could handle the shadows of my past – someone as pure and perfect as him wouldn't understand.

"_I cannot believe you've done this!" Romains appalling British/French accent hit me before he did. Pulling me into a tight hug, he pulled me from the floor beneath me and spun me around, his arms placed just beneath my bum. "This is so incredible. So many women, eh? Maybe, I'll get lucky tonight" Dropping me suddenly with a cheeky wink of his left eye, I glanced up at him, his white shirt, clinging to his body, loosely buttoned – better than normal – and a jacket carefully shrugged onto his shoulders. "Je t'aime!" He kissed my cheeks softly, once, twice, three times and bounced off away through the room. Tonight, was the opening night of my art gallery in the Montmartre, Romain has a few pieces up – all of which have sold, as he walked away – I noticed a rabble of young girls circling him, touching his arm and giggling girlishly. He must love this. But then I realised, I'm in a crowd of faceless people, people laughing, talking, whispering, but yet somehow I was all alone. _

_2 weeks later-_

_I sipped casually on the cup of coffee Romain had dumped in front of me. I couldn't believe Annabelle had moved to Paris, and not told me. I watched her closely, not once did she look at me. Every glance – flirtatiously – thrown at Romain, the occasional lip bite and a slight girlish giggle; I smiled, she never acted like this, well, not really. He definitely noticed it as well. It was still early, the sun was rising slowly and sleepily, caressing Paris with its morning rays, very few people were up. That's why Romain chose now. He doesn't big groups of people early in the morning. _

"_So Anna," I started, flicking a glance Romains way before turning to face her. "What are you going to do for work?"_

"_I want to be an artist, and your mother told me that you own an art gallery now. She's not too happy about that. But she's not happy about most of the things you do." My mother? When has my life ever mattered to her?_

"_Anna, the work in my gallery is, well, professional. A lot of people want their work in it. Being my friend won't make it any easier for you." She nodded and turned back to face Romain giggling. _

"_You think I could do it, don't you Romain?" She touched his hand softly, making him blush slightly._

"_Anna, why were you talking to my mother?" I spat, not giving him a chance to answer. Her hands flung up above her in defence._

"_Chill. She called me, I could hardly just hang up on her. That would be impolite." She smirked. I knew she had a point. But she knows how I feel about my mother, and she knows she's betrayed me and my trust. _

"_I cannot believe you."_

"_So Romain, you must work out a lot. You look pretty tough." She brushed her hand against his bicep, biting her lip. His eyes flicked behind her. A lost man stared down at him. _

"_Leonard." He stood suddenly, hands clenched. "Mon frère." He grimaced slightly as his brother moved towards him. His brother had a similar complexion, narrow eyes and a bad attitude. His shoulder slouched and his head high. Skinny jeans clinging to his skin and a white shirt loosely fitted upon his shoulders. He looked younger than Romain but wiser and more mature. His stared sheepishly from his brother to Anna and then finally shifted his gaze over to me. My heart began to pound and my head began to spin, he smiled and I crumbled. He laughed and I wept. I loved him, already. _

I told Tom this memory, he listened closely, stroking my hair that was tucked neatly beneath his hand, he nodded when necessary and smiled when I finished.

"Did you feel like that about me when you first met me?" He didn't look down at me when he asked, flushing slightly. "Because I did when I first saw you."

"Tom, I..." He laughed with a lick of his lips before kissing my forehead once more. He told me not to answer because he didn't want to know. Guilt consumed me.

"_Never trust my brother." Romain slid his arm around Anna's waist throwing me a reassuring glance. "I did try to warn you." Tears flooded down my cheeks for the third time this day – I have never cried this much. Romains bulky arms quickly through around me pulling me into his chest, I don't know how long we stood there. I don't particularly care either. How could something that had made me feel so alive and happy make me feel this bad and alone? He was married. I was alone. _

We spent hours talking about what Leonard had done to my heart, and Tom listened to every word. I had never met anyone so attentive, and he, liked me. I removed my head from his lap and quickly sat myself on his lap, a leg softly grazing each side of his shaped waist. It's time to show him how much he matters to me. He smiled reaching his arms around my waist, feeling my bare skin through my top. I don't think he's quite expecting this, and I squirmed under his warm touch. He stole a final romantic kiss from my mouth before pulling my chest towards him – several kisses were planted softly along my jaw line and down my neck, lingering at my chest. I ran my hands through his hair – he pecked at my neck, planting small wet kisses around my jaw line. His eyes bore up into mine – eyes filled with lust and longing – his lips parted as he panted in need. I laughed before kissing him once more, pushing his back down the sofa, I lay fully on top of him. With a quick sweep, he flipped me over, taking control. He stared into my eyes once more before kissing me, but pulling away almost instantaneously.

"Are you sure you want this?" He asked weariness etched into his tone. I laughed, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him into a deeper kiss once more, lingering sweetly upon his sweetened lips.

"Tom, for once, just shut up and kiss me." He laughed his unique, hungry laugh and kissed me. But this time, it was different, he sat me back up on top of him, standing up, holding me to him, his hands wrapped around my waist and my legs grabbing onto his body. He walked me through the doors; his tongue exploring the deepest parts of my mouth, his nose pressed my burning skin. His kisses became shorter, hungrier, and needier.

He laid me gently on the bed, ripping his lips from my own. Smiling, he rubbed his fingers over my own, before grabbing my hands tightly and pulling them above my head, holding them tightly together, with just one of his own hands. He licked his lips and pulled a tie from the nightstand beside his bed. Oh? He's _that_ sort of guy. Tying my hands above my head and to the nightstand, he kissed my lips once more.

"Stay still. Don't move, or squirm, or talk." He slowly began to kiss my neck identically to how he had before, trailing his soft hungry lips down my jaw and neck, slowly, teasingly, unbuttoned the blue art shirt from my body. He opened it fully, staring down at my topless body; I hadn't put a bra on. I didn't think I needed one. He began trailing his kisses once more along my body, not leaving a single inch of me left untouched. His lips began down my stomach lingering at my shorts, he grinned menacingly, his eyes piercing my own. Not loosing eye contact with me, he unbuttoned my shorts, slowly, and pulled them open, his fingers trailing over the fabric of my underwear softly, my body trembled under his touch. I wanted him. I watched him to touch me; to kiss me; to fuck me. He pulled my shorts down to my knees, his thumbs grazing my thighs as he did so. He laughed playing with the fabric of my underwear. "Are these for me?" I nodded nervously, as his fingers trailed, ever so slowly, further and further down my body. "I love them." He hungry whispered attacked my body, controlling me, shaking me to my very core. He lent down and kissed my underwear softly and longingly. He pulled my shorts off completely, my underwear following suit. His fingers grazed down to my clit, soaking up my wetness. "Someone's needy." He laughed softly. "Do you want me, Rosie?" I nodded and squirmed as his fingers circled my most pleasurable spot. He sat on top of me and unbuttoned his shirt, unzipping his trousers afterwards he pulled them off with his boxers at once. "See? Now we're even."

Before I knew it, his full length was inside me, filling me up; his warm sweaty body on top of me, no space between us. His eyes bore into mine, nothing else seemed to matter. It was just us. He kissed me softly, before slamming into me again. My eyes closed as an incomprehensible wave of pleasure hit me. I groaned. "Open your eyes. They're so beautiful. I want to watch your pleasure as I do this." He began to slow push in and out of me, slowly at first, his small soft moans echoing my own. My wrists squirmed beneath his tie, but with every movement the knot tightened around my arm. I wanted to touch him so badly. His speed quickened and his breath became ragged, the same surge building up within. "Go on, let go." He kissed me deeply, his tongue ripping through my lips. I couldn't control myself; I exploded around him, a feeling of pure indulgence and inexplicable happiness infecting my veins. He smiled, hitting into me harder, the pleasure rushing over him, he finally found his release within me. His head was buried in my neck, his warm breath, heating up my already chilling body. His lips pressed into my neck, and the knot around my wrists was untied, my arms slid around him, his skin warming my hands.


	7. The Past

**I'm aware that this chapter is short. But it's a filler chapter. The real drama will come in the next chapter! Hope you like it! Thanks for all the lovely words guys!**

**A x**

"Oh, for god's sake Tom! Why does it matter?" My slammed through my front door heading straight through the white linen curtains to the boiling heat of midday Paris. We had lain in bed for a while, his arms wrapped tightly around me, and then he asked me about her, the abyss. My never fading shadow. My torment. My mother.

He followed me quickly – I knew he would.

"Why won't you tell me? If they're not important, why does it matter that I know about them?" I knew this would happen. It always happens. Tom asked me about my, I knew it would happen eventually. It's part of being a couple, I suppose. I don't want to tell him. The cool air had slithered through my apartment whilst I had been at his. My skin was burning, it helped, I needed to calm. I didn't want to fight about somebody so insignificant.

"I don't like to talk about her, the way she made me feel. It wasn't fair and I don't want your pity." My elbows rested on the cool stone balcony, the sun soaking into my skin, my blue shirt loosely buttoned on my shoulder and the lacy black underwear that Tom had loved so much the night before clinging dirtily to my body.

"Fine, then I won't pity you. I'll laugh at your life. If that's what you want, that's what I will do." His arms wrapped around my body, his waist pressed against my bum. It's a shame his trousers were in the way. "I just want to know."

"What do you want to know?" I questioned him, sighing at my indignant loss.

"Why do you hate her so much? And why do you never talk about her? Why are there no photos of your family?" One of his hands snaked down my arm, placing his hand on top of mine, his warm breath snaking around my neck, as his head was gently placed on my shoulder. "Please, Rosie." He whispered pleadingly into my ear, his lips touching its lobe gently.

"My mother was a deadly beast, a devil's advocate; I hated how she made me feel. My father was hardly around and died when I was three. My brother was abusive verbally but caring sometimes. I never want to go back to that." I scoffed at the abusive and catastrophically graphic memories that came flooding back.

"I'm so sorry Rose, I had no idea, my darling, how awful." He kissed my neck, the bile rose up to my throat, attacking my mouth. This is exactly what I didn't want.

"Of course you didn't know, I didn't tell you and seeing as you're not telepathic you wouldn't have found out any other way. But, Tom, don't for one second think that I want or require your pity. I am so fed of people thinking that I need pity. I'm fine. Really." I turned around in his arms, our bodies pressed together, he was speechless. "I spent my entire childhood thinking that I wasn't good enough. That I was worthless, and because she made me feel like that, it was never physical abuse, no; it was always verbal and scarring. I've never gotten over her words. Not a single word have I forgotten." I pushed away from his and sat down into one of the chairs. He watched my cautiously. I laughed, sinister and cool twang bitterness escaped in its place. "Do you know what the worst thing she said you me was? That I was an arrogant self absorbed nobody, with no ambition, and no real talent. I cried for two days after that particular comment. I never had any friends. My father died when I was little. I had no one." I cannot believe I'm telling him this. "And, now, I hate my brother because I'm jealous of the pure love she gave him, I resent his happiness and the love he got as a child. I was abandoned and alone. She told me that caring was never on her agenda. I was nothing to her and the worst part is she has never seen what she did to me. It hurts. Always. Always so alone." I looked away, off into the Paris, the clearing sky made the Eiffel Tower visible. It was quiet once more in the autumn time of Paris, the trees were colourful and bristling, the street littered with the first fallen leaves, the coffee became warmer and the atmosphere darker.

"You're not worthless, my darling, you're not." I laughed at his innocence, he had no idea. "You mean everything, and to Anna and Romain that much is obvious, and what's more you've made me so happy these past few weeks. You're funny and smart and so, so, so talented, I'm actually quite jealous. If you don't want to talk about your family anymore, we don't have to, it's fine. I don't want to see you upset; it kills me a little inside to see you cry." When had I started crying? His long thumb had wiped away a tear from my cheek. "Please, don't ever tell me or feel that you are worthless."

"What about your parents? What are they like? Married?" I asked him, pressing the conversation of the tender nerve of my past.

"Divorced."

"Do you want my pity?" I questioned, I could soothe him. Telling him that I was so sorry and that it was my fault I shouldn't have asked. I've never been that sort of girl, my mother drove that out of me as a child, and my father's death solidified it.

"No, but I will tell you about them never the less. That is, of course, if you want to know." He searched my eyes, I nodded and shrugged. "I love them both, very much, but it's a nightmare knowing how the happy memories of my childhood are tainted the black vile of their divorce. I was at Eaton, when it happened. I think I started acting because I found being away at school while my parents were divorcing really distressing. It was an escape. I needed it. My mother is the most caring, warm hearted and gentlest of creatures and my father is equally as compassionate. But sometimes it just doesn't work." He shrugged acting nonchalant, I knew he cared. He was just as compassionate as he claimed his parents were. I caressed the side of his cheek with my frozen fingers, his eyes reacted to this touch, closing in the sweetest of ways, and my touch lost him in paradise. His lips crashed into my own, the soft sensation of needy kiss, this kiss was deeper and more wanted than any other we had shared. His phone rang and instantaneously his lips ripped apart from my own. "I think that's quite enough emotional bonding for one night, don't you agree?" He winked before grabbing my chin, launching his lips hungrily at my own; suddenly he was storming away with the phone pressed tightly to his ear.


	8. The Woman In The Red Dress

**Sorry that this has taken so long. I have been so busy! thanks for all of the reviews and follows. Makes a small town girl incredibly happy! Thank you!**

**A x**

Tom's P.O.V

I glanced at my watch – oh God, I'm really late. I was supposed to meet Luke for lunch...twenty minutes ago. I put my foot onto the tarnished steps, when it hit me; this sweet melodic tune. Only one other person lived on this floor – Rosie. Her door was wide open – I needed no further invitation. I slithered across her apartment, carefully placing one foot in front of the other. I didn't want to make a noise.

There she sat, the woman who had captured me from the first moment my eyes drifted upon her. A guitar perched on her lap, her bare feet scrunched up upon the wall, her gaze – somewhere distant and probably misplaced, her face – lost and thoughtful. She sang effortlessly.

"Like autumn turns leaves, winter will breathe, cold on our necks, snow in our paths." Did she write this? She bit her bottom lip, and stopped playing. I couldn't stop myself, leaning coolly against the doorway I clapped slowly, her hair flicking suddenly around to glare at me. Her eyes red and distraught. "What's the matter?" She moved towards me, silently, wrapping her arms around my waist, a gentle sob escaping her icy exterior.

"I'm sorry for what's about to happen."

"Oh so you're the Tom Rosie has neglected to tell me about." A woman in a red dress stood by Rosie's bedroom door. Could it be? Was it her mother? She had an evil smile and a hostile glare latched onto her and a suitcase hidden behind the door that I had neglected to notice on the way in. "I doubt she's told you anything about me. I'm –"

"Her mother, no doubt." I threw her a charming smile; it's always nice to have the mother of the girlfriend on your side no matter how much you hate her. "It's an absolute pleasure; I've heard such wonderful things about you." I extend my hand – she takes it with a smile. She doesn't seem so bad.

"I'm Elizabeth and I'm surprised she had told you anything. She always was such an ungrateful brat." She glares at Rosie, my hand slithered around her waist pulling her into me. I would be here for her. I understand now. "Will you join us for dinner, Tom, I could use some civilised company and we ordered far too much takeaway?" She was so nice to me and yet, to her own daughter she hated her.

"Of course, I'd love to." I oblige as she sat down on the sofa, I look down at Rosie, and she was staring blankly ahead, her face paled and her bottom lip consumed by her upper. "I'll be here, the entire time, my darling, I promise." I kiss her temple gracefully and pulling her quickly to the sofa.

She was silent.

"So, how was flight? I wasn't even aware we were expecting you!" I glance away from the painful sight of the daughter to the unaware face of the mother. She smiled.

"My flight was okay. Not too bad, I suppose. Of course, she wouldn't tell you I was coming. She was always too spoilt and cruel to introduce her friends to me. Especially, the ones that was as handsome as you. Maybe she was afraid I might steal them away." She giggles, fluttering her eyelashes my way. I slip my fingers through Rosie's and rest my chin on her shoulder, breathing in her coconut scent.

"If you want her gone. Just say the word." I whispered but she remained staring straight ahead, her skin paling more and more with every twisted bitten word her mother spoke. I steal a moment to take her beauty in. Her ruffled bed hair had been left alone, small curls flicking out towards me, her eyes a deep green and every time I dare to glance at her, her eyes greet me and for that second I forget about everything else because I'm allowed to be here, with her.

* * *

"Oh! So you're an actor! How wonderful!" She exclaims between quick bites of her food, she gently dabs the corner of her mouth with a napkin.

"Yes, I suppose it is wonderful. I love my job, it gives me the chance to explore the minds of other people and it's always a challenge." I explain, I had slipped down onto the floor and sat between Rosie's legs when the takeaway had arrived. She gently weaves her hands through my hair, pulling softly every few minutes. "But I'm sure you must be proud of your daughter, her art gallery is incredibly successful." I tried.

"Oh, well, I went in there today, the art seems a little bit childish. I don't like it. I always said she should have gone into accounting. But she never did listen to me, I –" Rosie began laughing, a cruel deep hollow laugh. Her hands leave my hair.

"No I don't listen to you you're right. Do you want to know why?" She left no time for a response. "It is because you're a sadistic old bat that makes me feel like a worthless nobody who doesn't deserve to live. I hate you more than words can say. I put up with you for eighteen years before university and I had worked so hard to get away from you. And I have been so happy. Especially since Tom came into my life." She stands up, moving over to the balcony door. I feel a small amount of joy and pride as I watched her mother's horror stricken tanned face.

"I have only ever wanted good things for you!" She retorts, glaring from her to me. "You always pushed me away when I wanted to help you."

"Oh! Would you listen to yourself?" Rosie bellowed. "You have never said a single nice thing to me. Yes, you fed and clothed me but you never loved me and I have suffered, and suffered for that. But I am telling you now, that I will never let you hurt me again."

"What do you think Tom?" Bat woman asks.

Oh God.

"In all honesty, you do seem to be a little harsh towards your daughter. You have done nothing my criticise her since I've got here and I assume that carried on before I was here as well and I don't think you can see how much you are hurting her. You're daughter is beautiful, Elizabeth. If you just gave her a chance to show you that, maybe you would see that you ruin her and hurt and torture her."

"What manipulative bitch you really are." Elizabeth laughs and she stalks towards her daughter with a dark glint in her eyes.

"Me?" Rosie splutters. "Have you looked in the mirror?"

A rip echoed through the house, this burning sound sears through my veins, I raced to Rosie's sound. She'd hit her. I can't believe she hit her.

"You disrespectful little runt. Where did I go wrong?"

"I think you should go." I ordered as I wrapped my hand around Rosie's waist, she rests her head on my shoulder. "Now."

Her mother scolds, as he collects her coat and suitcases, storming out of the apartment without another word. As she slams the door, the murderous silence haunts the apartment; I throw my arms around Rosie pulling her cold body tight into my chest. "She's gone. Please don't cry now, my darling. She has gone." I sooth as she stays limp in my arms.

* * *

**Rosie's P.O.V**

I just want to move on from this night. I want to forget. I want to be with Tom. Fully. I move onto his lap, straddling him, he gazes up at, his eyes quirked, as he gazes down my entire body. I place my fingers under his chin and pull him up into a kiss, forcing my tongue into his mouth, he quickly pulls away. "Are you sure you want to do this now, my darling?" He questions.

"Tom, just have me, and stop being such a gentlemen, for just an hour. I am begging you." He growls as he pulls me up, as he stands I wrap my legs around his waist. He pushes us against the cold white wall, as his lips begin to explore the cold hidden skin of my body.

He rips my shirt off.

He continues to kiss my bare skin, planting small needy kisses on me, moaning softly against my skin, sending vibrations against through my body. His fingers gracefully work my bra strap, quickly freeing me from my cage. His lips quickly kiss my exposed nipples, his tongue toying with them, stiffening them quickly. The left one, followed by the right. My fingers pull at his top; he raises his arms quickly making it easier for me to rip the top over his head. My shorts and his trousers quickly followed, his lips never leaving my skin, my exposed back frozen against the cool solid wall. Freeing his member, he wasted no time in entering me, filling my graciously, panting against my skin, his head rested on my shoulder. I ordered him to move.

He starts slowly, bringing himself fully out of me before re-entering me, my wetness soaking him, he quickly gains some speed, pushing in and out, in and out, of me; his warm breath moistening the dry skin of my shoulder.

I feel his breath becoming ragged.

He quickens his speed.

I feel myself tightening around him, my muscles tightening and twitching, he hits my most delicate spot, pushing me further and further into my blissful abyss.

"Let go for me, darling." He whispers in my ear, his low growling voice sends trimmers down my spine. "Come for me." I find my release, letting myself go around him, my hands gripping onto his muscle covered shoulders, he continues to pump into me whilst I found my release and it didn't take long before he found his own.

Placing his hands on my bum, he pulled me through my bedroom door, finally pulling out of me he placed my on the bed. I rest one hand on my stomach and the other above me head. He stands there naked, in all his glory, his eyes filled with fire and passion as he stares at me. I bite my lip as I blush, looking away. The bed springs creak as he crawls over to me. His lips brush over mine and he rests his head on my chest. I quickly place my hands in his hair. "Was that forceful enough for you, my darling?" He questions, as his finger traces circles on my bare stomach.

"Yes, but do you want to know something Tom?"

"Yes, my darling?"

"I prefer you as a gentleman. You know exactly how to treat a woman." I can feel him grinning against my chest.

"I believe you have my mother to thank for that one." He looks up at me grinning.

"I'll thank her if I meet her." I grinned.

* * *

I open my eyes to find Tom cuddling into my stomach, I couldn't help but smile. His mouth was open and his tongue hung out of his mouth slightly, his hair was ruffled and his naked form had never looked so glorious.

However, I removed his head from my chest and sneak towards the door, softly planting one foot in front of the other. The post had been violently shoved through my door; it was covering most of the marble, some of it even hitting the kitchen counter. Then I saw it.

It had the symbol at the top; I knew that this was the letter that would change everything for me. I bent down in front of it, wasting no time in ripping it open. I read the most important line:

_You're application to California University has been accepted. _

I got in. I got on to the Film studies course at California University. I flop onto the sofa, re-reading the same line, over and over again. I grabbed my phone from the coffee table and dialled the number.

"Hello?"

"Rosie?"

"I got in. I got in to California University." She screamed down the phone at me, I wanted to join in but I can't wake Tom.

Oh God.

Tom.


	9. Goodbyes

**There will only be one more chapter after this one. I hope you have enjoyed it. I have! If you would some more Tom stories would you please let me know. I'm always itching for feedback. Thanks for everything! Enjoy!**

**A x**

"So, have you talked to Tom about this yet? Or are you just going to be you and get up and go? I'm pretty sure he'd fly out and see you." Anna lent over my workbench, her arms illuminated by the light which was supposed to be helping me trace my work – she obviously wouldn't let this slide. I was so close to finishing.

"I haven't talked to him and it's not that simple. There are so many variables that I need to consider before making a decision so don't you bully me into it." I spat at her, but quickly fixing my attention back to the paper and knife in front of me.

"Oh bullshit, Rosie," She slapped the table in front of me impatiently. "Look at me." I looked up; she glared down at me emotionlessly. "You're just running from what you know is good for you. You've been suffering because of Leonard for too long and Tom has stopped that. You just can't stop needlessly torturing yourself can you?" An icy breeze swiftly swam through the room as I looked at her. Disgusted. How dare she?

"You know nothing about it. So drop it, okay?"

"Why should I? I care about you but you are just hurting yourself. Will you at least talk to him?" She pleaded, impatiently bouncing her hip at me.

"Look, my relationship with Tom is _not_ the same as you and Romain. Just because you messed that up, does not mean you have to try and play with mine."I had almost barked this at her, my tone was hushed as someone browsed through the art rapidly in our gallery. She glared at me. Her arms reached up in front of her, her long slender fingers spaced out neatly, she turned and walked away.

Ding. Ding. Winner of round one: Rosie.

* * *

The last stencil had been cut. No line left untouched – I grabbed the blue tack, neatly sticking the stencils to the wall. I have waited so long to do this. I removed my jacket, grabbing the paints quickly from a small box in my cupboard. I reached up out of my flip flops and began to spray, the calming feeling rushed over me.

It took half an hour to fully spray and remove the stencils and it was everything I had hoped it would be. It was London – Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, and the London Eye. An intricate set of colours lay before my eyes and I loved it. It was everything I had hoped it would be. But what now?

I sat on the sofa marvelling over my months of work – Romain flopped down beside me, flicking his feet up onto the table, his back deepening into the softened pillow.

"Mon chéri, c'est magnifique! [_My darling, it's magnificent!]_" He leaned down kissing the temple of my forehead. "C'est une honte que tu dois quitter. Mais je le prendre, tu ne vais pas rester?_ [It's a shame that you must leave. But I take it you will not stay?]_ "

"No, Romain, c'est le temps de quitter_. [It's time to go]"_ His tongue slid over his bottom lip as he watched me for a while. His hand grazed my cheek softly with the tips of his coarse fingers; I rested my hand on his. I would miss him. "Désolé"

"Je ferai manquer vous. _[I will miss you]_" He stood up and headed for the door. "You'll always be welcome..uh...here." I smiled softly, fighting the tears as I ran towards him. I reached my arms around his neck and pulled you close. "Je t'aime toujours. _[I will always love you]_"

"Je t'aime toujours." I repeated as he looked down at me again. His pink checked shirt was ruffled and creased, his khaki shorts hung loosely at his hips, falling down occasionally. His hair needed to be brushed and his eyes had sunken. He needed to sleep. Then he was gone. He ruffled his hair as he headed down the stairs and out of sight.

The last stencil has been cut. It was time to go.

* * *

"So when were you going to tell you had been accepted into California University?" Tom laced his fingers through mine. Shit. I rested my head on his chest with a sigh – the soft fabric of his shirt rubbed against my cheek.

"Um, now?" I winced as the words fell out from my mouth.

"This is incredible. You're incredible, my darling, well done!" His arm that had been thrown around my waist for the past hour tightened around me in a comforting swift hug.

"You're not mad?"

"Why would I be mad?"

"I have to leave." Those words hit him.

"And do you not want to see me anymore then? Is that it?" He questioned pulling his fingers from mine. I sat up. Here we go.

"I didn't say that."

"Then what is it, darling?" He sat up next to me, right next to me, his long legs stretched underneath my coffee table.

"This will never last Tom and we both know it." I stood up and paced about the room, never daring a glance in his direction. I watched his shadow he stood up.

"I don't know that, how could you possibly know that." He had raised his voice now, it echoed and scorched through my apartment leaving an icy silence. He slid towards me, his hands feeling their way up my arms, holding onto me tight. "I'm happy now, I don't remember being this happy before I was with you. I want to be with you, now and in the future. So please don't run from me my darling."

"I'm sorry, Tom." I looked away as his arms dropped. He left.

* * *

He caught me. Bag over my shoulder, red in the face, a tear slipping over my dry cheek – he'd caught me. I had no idea what was in my bag, a few random items of clothing, a sandwich – maybe – a toothbrush. Did it really matter? No. I just needed to go and quickly, before Tom notices I was gone. Which of course, was stupid, he must've have known instantly what was happening. Otherwise he wouldn't be in front me in the corridor, in just his trousers, the hurt on his face transparently obvious and the stupidity of my love him clear.

"So, that's it." He swallowed, forcing a single torturous glance towards me. "You're just going to leave and that's the end of that. We aren't even going to talk about it?"

"Tom, please," I begged, fighting such girly emotions, why did this hurt? I'd known him for two months, why does this hurt? "We both knew this was coming. We knew. This was summer romance, but now autumn looms and once you've gone, I'll be left with nothing. I'll be alone, and I'm so sick of being alone. Tom, please, try to understand."

"I'll stay here. We can make this work. This wasn't just summer romance for me. I..." He swallowed one more time. "I love you."

"Tom, please just let my go." He smiled sardonically, gently tucking a single strand of hair behind my ear, letting his fingers purposely graze my skin as he pulled away, I flinched under his touch.

"Just tell me the truth. If it's fair, I'll let you go and I won't say another word." I nodded.

"The truth? The truth is, Tom, we are from two completely separate worlds, and what we have has been the most incredible thing. But it has to end as all good things do. But, know this, you are the first man who has made me feel this alive, made me feel special, sexy, wanted. I've gone so long, accepting love that never made sense; I thought I deserved to be treated this way. You cannot begin to understand how much this is hurting me, saying goodbye; saying goodbye to the one person who actually matters. But if you stay here because of me, you'll end up resenting me and if you took me away from here, I know I'd hate you. It won't work out and you know it. So let's be grown up and just accept that this has to happen. Let me go, Tom."

"I don't want you to go." He won't cry, and I know he won't; that's just Tom, but I don't want him to, if he cries – it'll break my heart. "I'm more myself with you than anyone else. Please don't take this away from us, from me. I need you, my darling, please."

"Tom – "

"No, you've had your turn, so please, just listen. I know my life is hectic, but I can't change that. But I can make this work for us. There is no one else who can sit there listening to me talk about Shakespeare and actually care about what I'm saying. There is no one else I can't not make pasta sauce properly with. There is no one I can kiss in the rain and loos myself with but you. There is no one else who makes me laugh like you can just by smiling at me. There is no one, more talented, more beautiful on the inside and out. There is no one else I think about. There is no one else."

"Why did you have to say that? You always say the right wrong thing. There is a letter on the kitchen counter. Read it or burn it. I don't mind. My plane is an hour, I should go. I'm sorry." I reached onto my tip toes, the fabric of my broken converse denting into my skin, kissing his coarse cheek once, lingering before turning. I couldn't bear looking at him anymore. It hurts too much. I make a run for it.

He doesn't follow.

* * *

Change of P.O.V

* * *

I watched her leave from her balcony, a balcony. The thought of opening that letter was too much to bear; I held it gripping tightly in my hand. It was a single sheet. That was it? After everything we had done with one another for past two months? She leaves me a single sheet?

But she'd gone.

I knew not to stop her, she wouldn't want me to. I headed back to my apartment, changing swiftly. My hands slid over the sides of my hair swiftly combing it gently back. It was the last day on set, tucking my suit bottoms away neatly in my suitcase, I headed out of the door – braving a smile – making it seem like nothing was wrong. But it very much is. She'd gone and left me. She's the one girl on this earth who doesn't want to be with me anymore and I had to fall in love with her.

* * *

I changed quickly, I can't believe I have slept all afternoon, I brushed my hair, and it isn't as good as it usually is, but it will suffice. I didn't really bother me. My looks aren't that important to me. Humming a summer time tune, I looked out of my London window, the sky was clear and the sun grinning contented – for the first time in months – the hustle and bustle of London life was refreshingly familiar, she'd been right. I would've missed this too much. I neatened up my tie, soaking up a few seconds worth of sun. I slicked my hair back a few more times.

Luke barged in.

"I'm sorry Tom, it appears your taxi will be a few minutes late. I'll be downstairs and I will text you when it arrives. Fix your tie." He smiled before concealing himself into the darkened hallway. I wiped the few drops of sweat from my cheek. It really was summer. I sighed. I wish she hadn't left. This would be so much easier if I had her by my side. I hate that she is the one thing I want but can't have.

I flopped with unnecessary flamboyancy onto my neatly made bed, delving my hands into the pockets of my trousers, my fingers slipped over a rough piece of paper, crumpled at the edges and incredibly worn. I pulled it out of my pockets. The note. I had thrown it in my pockets once I had got back from shooting, I couldn't bring myself to read it. I packed my bag and got the hell out of Paris. I took a deep breath. I was ready to read it now. Pulling it open, it read:

_I'll miss you._

Those three words meant more to me than any hundreds of pages she could've written. She always knew the right words to say. Even now, the thought of her lips on mine, made my heart race.

But she is never going to come back.

**Granted it was a little rushed, i just really wanted you guys to know what happened so...i'll see you for the final chapter.**

**Please don't forget to review. **


	10. The Studio Meeting

**Here it is, their ending. Sorry for it's delay. Had a few issues. **

**Thanks for all of the support I have had when writing this story. It's been incredible. **

**I love you all. **

**I hope you enjoy! **

**(I find the constant view change necessary to create the affect I wanted **** )**

* * *

Tom's P.O.V

"Tom, hurry up, I have to be there in twenty minutes!" Ben screamed from the bottom of the stairs, he'd just wrapped up another series of Sherlock. I flung my black leather jacket over my shoulder and through on some vans. It's a studio – like it matters what I wear. "TOM!" His voice, potent with superiority, echoed through the halls. I raced down the stairs and stood to attention. He grinned. His floppy black curls hung down of the top of his head and his Beatles shirt clung tightly to his body. He _looked _like he was made to work in a studio. He had invited me to join him, so that we could catch up and things before I went back to work; The Avengers had been my biggest project yet – soon to be released in the states… near _California_. "Good, let's go."

* * *

**Change of P.O.V**

* * *

"Katie. I'm not joking. Hurry up. Now. We should be there already! Benedict is there today and we need to be on time." I yelled across the apartment. This film was my big break – I had one more bit to do; record the voice over with Benedict Cumberbatch. He's a skilled actor so it shouldn't take long. This is what had longed to do for so long. "KATIE!" I screeched as she flung her body carelessly down the stairs. I laughed – she almost looked scared.

We go to California together – final year now and I have _so many_ projects lined up for after graduation.

You could ask me whether I miss Tom. I could lie and say no – say that it was easy to be without him. Tell you that in the short space of time we had been together I hadn't felt anything for him. That he didn't matter much.

This would be a total and unutterable lie.

Two years down the road and I still yearn for Tom – I watch his movies and keep tabs on him via Twitter and Tumblr. Watch interviews with him – noticing how well he copes without me. It's like I didn't even exist. I

Well what was I expecting? A man broken down in tears and a man suffering because of a few weeks shared with nobody? Would I even want to see him like that? – Truthfully. No. It would have made this whole thing so much worse for me. I can't cope as it is – but I just can't get him out of my mind.

We found ourselves running around the corner to the studio – I checked my watch. We made it. Fifteen minutes to spare. Ace.

Danny – my resident genius strummed knowingly away on his guitar, perched on the edge of the torn sofa, the walls a faded blue, lines of guitars placed carefully against it. We slid across the room towards him. His shirt neatly tucked into his jeans, a tight fitting blue jumper clinging tightly to it. His messy bed hair apparent and the crude activities of the night before clung to him.

"Has he arrived?"

"Would I be so relaxed if he had?" He grinned as I responded to his question. His golden eyes glistened at the sight of Katie. He loved her. We all knew it. He spent as much time with her as possible. Little was ever said. But they knew each other better than a mother knows her daughter, a father knows his son, a best friend knows their companion.

"That's true." He glanced at her again. "Hey Katie" He flung carelessly at her, smiling faintly, the creases around his eyes haunting his face as he looked at her. Love. "Can we lay down the final idea for this song I want to do now. Before they get here I mean."

"Sure. It's the chords I know right?" I questioned mindlessly as I reached for my electro-acoustic guitar. I call him Bertie. He _looks _like a Bertie. His golden body shone through the dim room, his smooth neck and body felt angelic against my torn skin. His voice was the most beautiful I had ever heard. He played for me, and me alone. I loved him. He loved me. Danny nodded.

The tap of his foot against the chair counted us in. I readied myself.

My fingers made contact with the strings.

* * *

**Change of P.O.V**

* * *

We hurried along down the dirtied corridors, flinging the occasional glance at each other – offering a rare half-minded smile. Guided by a husky blonde in a short skirt.

She walked us in to the studio – it was busier than I had expected. People rushing around, carrying papers and chairs, moving tables, a group were playing a sweet melodic tune over in the corner…

"Okay, I'll let you know who's who now" The husky blonde spoke. "That's Adam and Levi, producers, over there is Shaun – photographer, watch out for him – he'll get you at the worst moments." She giggled, how sickly. "Over there, with the electric guitar is Danny, great lad, smart boy, sitting next to him is Katie. She's the best friend of Rosie, with the guitar over there." My eyes followed her finger as she pointed over to the sofa of people. It was her.

She was here.

In the studio.

Now.

I watched as her soft brown hair fell over one shoulder, trailing down to her breasts, the curves perfectly outlined by a band t-shirt. I wish I could see her eyes – she had them closed, as she absorbed the sweet melody she played. Her fingers, strumming masterfully. I remembered her. Everything about her. Like it was yesterday. Two years. Two years – I was still under her lustful spell. I needed her.

She was here.

In the studio.

Now.

"Let me go and get her for you." Blondey gave a slight smile before swinging her way to Rosie. My sweet Rosie. She glanced over our way, smiling at Ben. Her eyes trailed over to me, resting firmly on me. I saw her gulp. She set her guitar down. Her eyes never leaving my own. Blondey had returned, making her excuses to Ben and left. I didn't watch her leave. I could peel my eyes away from Rosie. Her beauty was as vivid as I remembered.

She was here.

In the studio.

Now.

* * *

**Change of P.O.V**

* * *

"That's him Katie!" I whispered nonchalantly. Maybe he didn't recognise me. Maybe that's why his golden eyes remained glued on the curve of my body. Maybe he was trying to remember. I don't think he will remember me now. After all this time will he?  
"That's Tom mother fucking Hiddleston! I know!" She grinned at me. It pierced my skin. I forget how famous he is now.

"NO! That's the guy from Paris!" I watched as her sapphire eyes processed it. Her jaw flung to the furthest reaches of her neck. Ding. Ding. Ding. She got it. "Yes! What do I do?"

"You've slept with Tom Hiddleston?" She screamed into my ear, I clasped my hand over her mouth pinning her down on the sofa. Danny's laughed reached the furthest depths of my brain – Tom's laugh! It's him! It's really him! Danny, Tom and Benedict headed towards us, there long slender shadows engulfing the small sofa, my hand still over her mouth - we glanced up at them. "Ben, how lovely to see you again," I started daring a sharp look at Tom. God, I love him. "You too Tom." I slipped in.

I got off of Katie, offering my hand to them one by one. "I wasn't aware that you would be here Tom. I swear." I pleaded as he stared painfully at me. "I wouldn't have come in today, if I knew. I don't think I should be here." I whispered to him and him alone. He wouldn't want people to know we dated. He absorbed my words, his moth faltered and his eyes furrowed. He didn't speak. "I'm not feeling to well." I announced to the room, probably louder than necessary. "I'm going home, Danny, " I called, grabbing the sleeve of my coat clumsily from the sofa "I take it I can trust you to get the work done today." I didn't wait for a response. "Excuse me."

I left.

* * *

_**Hello, is this still your number?**_

_**Tom **_

How I longed for this to be any other Tom that I had met in my life. How I longed for it to be a friend – someone who didn't hate me, someone I hadn't abandoned. I knew it was him though – it was his number.

_**Um, yes, hello Tom. I'm sorry about today. You see, I felt very ill. I don't think it was a good idea for me to work feeling like that. And I'm sure you don't want to see me again. I'm sorry. I'll have someone else wrap up Benedict's work. I'm sorry.**_

_**Rosie **_

I regretted the message – but I couldn't muster the courage to say why I left – how seeing his perfect made me die a little inside. It burned me to know how close I was to being loved by someone perfect and wonderful.

His reply was instant.

_**My darling, why do you act like we are strangers? I understand if you do not wish to see me. But do not give up such a wonderful job on my expense. I have told Ben that I must return to London tomorrow. I will not be in your way. I understand. **_

_**T**_

Tomorrow? Why must it be so soon? Why? My body ached for him. I wanted him. With me. Again.

_**I thought it was you who did not want to see me? **_

_**R**_

Again, his response was instant:

_**I would never wish nor want that.**_

_**Forever yours, **_

_**Tom.**_

* * *

**That's it! The end of their story! Hope you enjoyed. Favourite me for more Tom Hiddleston/Benedict Cumberbatch/Avengers/Sherlock stories.**

**As always, let me know what you think –**

**Over and out.**


	11. Quick Question

Hello!

I have recently got my laptop back and to celebrate I have decided to write another Tom Hiddleston fanfiction!

Would you pleeeaase post a comment or inbox me on here or tumblr to let me know if it should be a sequel to 'An Artistic Love' or an entirely new story!

I could really use some help here guys!

A x


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